No Fate
by Tashilover
Summary: As much as Douglas teased Martin, he'll always be there for him. Why? "Because I'm from the future," Douglas said as he reloaded his shotgun. "One day you will lead the revolution. And I am here to make sure you live to do so." A Terminator/CP fushion.
1. Chapter 1

Martin was a child.

Douglas knew calling a man in his thirties a child was crude, unfortunately he couldn't help but compare the Martin Crieff of today to the Martin Crieff of tomorrow.

The man Douglas knew in the future was well into his seventies. A confident man, a strong man, a man Douglas was more than willing to go to the end of the Earth for. The _boy _Douglas knew here in the present had none of those qualities of his future counterpart.

Martin had little self-confidence, could barely give a command without stuttering. And for the love of pete, _cried _when someone gave him lip. Douglas had no idea how someone like Martin would eventually turn into the resistant leader of the human race.

Of course, it was not as if he didn't question Martin's orders in the future. When Douglas was given the mission to go back in time, he had protested. "I'm nearly fifty," he said to his General. "Surely it would be best to send someone younger and not suffering from premature arthritis."

Martin smiled at him. Despite his age, his eyes were as sharp as ever. "I picked you, because I trust you above all else. Will you do this for me, Douglas?"

"Of course," Douglas had said without hesitation. He was wlling to die for Martin. How could he rufuse? "Anything."


	2. Chapter 2

The thing about early twenty-first century England, Douglas learned quickly, getting access to guns was not as easy as he thought.

He knew plasma rifles were not invented yet and grenades were definitely out of the question. It seemed the only people who needed weapons were farmers, but only for hunting and scaring off wolves. As an 'average citizen,' if Douglas bought anything more elaborate than the standard shotgun, suspicions were immediately raised.

Thus, the smuggling.

Oh sure, Arthur and Carolyn thought he did it merely for the fun and money. What they didn't know Douglas was slowly making contacts, exchanging names, and pulling weapons by the crate full.

The only problem now, Douglas frowned as he looked over a new shipment of AK-47's, was how was he going to persuade Martin to learn how to use one of these?


	3. Chapter 3

It was amazing how little of the war changed Arthur.

Douglas thought the experience of watching nearly three billion deaths would definitely kill that man's cheer. It certainly made him less idiotic, maybe, but Arthur's grin and optimism has kept so many children from panicking, has prevented so many suicides. He was a God send.

Arthur was not a soldier, that was evident since day one. And since most of his skills were either chauffeuring or making coffee, people have long debated if it was even worth keeping him around, to bother wasting food and water on him. Though Martin severely made his orders clear that Arthur would not be touched, it looked as if people were willing to break that order. It was only going to be a matter of time before someone snapped and took matters into their own hands.

Arthur never got an official title. He was simply known as 'Arthur' though many referred to him as 'teacher' or 'professor.' It was purely accidental how he became the educator among them all, teaching the young their ABC's.

"You should go into teaching," Douglas suggested carefully one sunny afternoon. They were sitting outside in front of a small family business run cafe; an apology to Arthur for calling him a 'clot' all day. It always came a shock to Douglas to able to have coffee out in the open like this."I think you'll be really good at it."

Arthur blushed. "You're just being nice," he grinned into his tea cup. "I can't teach. I'm not smart-"

"I'm not saying you have to teach rocket science. Children like you, they like to listen to you."

The younger man shrugged. "I never really thought about it. I mean… I like working for MJN-"

"You can't be working here forever," Douglas emphasized. He won't tell Arthur Carolyn will die from a stroke in two years time. He considered this as a blessing, glad to know the woman he came to know as 'boss' won't be around to witness the war. "Consider the future, Arthur. I think you'll be a _great _teacher_."_

Arthur's blush grew redder. "I'll… think about it."


	4. Chapter 4

Some may berate the slow pace Douglas was going about to prepare the future leader of the human race. Douglas would tell them, "I'd like to see you do better."

The facts were simple: Douglas had no proof. How do you convince a thirty year old man of the impending apocalypse without sounding like a cartoon character? In the beginning Douglas tried to convince Martin into taking a few extra courses, perhaps a self-defense class or a wilderness class.

"_Why?" _Martin asked. "I'm not planning to fight anyone… or go camping anytime soon."

"For fun," Douglas shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "Maybe you'll learn something useful out of it."

"Hmmm… maybe," Martin sighed. "That sounds pretty cool, but I don't have the time. Or the money."

The General had told Douglas snippets of his youth, of the years before the War. He wasn't too keen on certain subjects, but Douglas did remember how Martin once described his constant lack of funds.

Douglas did play around with the idea of just kidnapping Martin. The next time they fly to Mexico City, knock the poor Captain out and make their way to South America. Though Douglas would try his best to bring Arthur with him, he was a sacrifice Douglas was willing to make.

Unfortunately most of MJN's trips consisted of France, Spain, or New York. None were ideal destinations to take Martin to as most of North America and Europe were destroyed in the beginning of the War.

But as one year passed and Douglas still hadn't made any progress with Martin, he realized being subtle was not the way to go. It was time to be blunt.

Martin froze in his seat. He stared wildly down at the object Douglas had just slammed in front of him. "Is that… a gun?"

"Yes," Douglas said. It was one of the first things he picked up for himself. He carried it around everywhere he went. "This is a 9 mm semi-automatic Browning. It's not loaded. I want you to try to take it apart."

Martin threw him a look. "Douglas-"

"Martin. Take apart the gun."

There was no room for negotiation in his voice. Martin looked as if he wanted to argue more, but it seemed curiosity was getting the better of him. Hesitantly, he picked up the weapon. He held it loose in his hands, telling Douglas this was very first time he'd ever held a weapon. Shit.

Martin slowly maneuvered the gun, his finger twitching over the trigger, not fully touching. Douglas let him explore, up until Martin stupidly pointed the barrel at his own face.

Douglas forced the gun down. "Don't you _ever _point a gun in your own face."

Martin blushed. "Yeah, but I thought you said it was unloaded."

"Still not a good idea. Can't let you pick up bad habits."

"Can't?" Martin echoed, confused. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Take apart the gun."

The young man huffed in frustration, his jaw tightening. Again, he didn't fight, but Douglas knew if he pushed him like that again, he would lose him.

Slowly, with Douglas' occasional guidance, Martin systematically took apart the gun. The hesitation that was on Martin's eventually drained away to pure concentration as he placed each separated part on the table. Truth be told, Douglas found it strangely fascinating, watching his future leader like this. He had yet to gain the muscle memory, though the potential was there. Martin was a goddamn natural.

When Martin was finished, he raised an eyebrow at him. 'Well?' it said.

Douglas pulled out a rag and oil. "Now, I'm going to teach you how to clean this."

"Douglas!" Martin cried out, standing up abruptly from his chair. "What is the meaning of this? Why do you want me to know this?"

"You should learn the basics of handguns, Martin."

"What? _Why?"_

Douglas almost told him right then and there. Because in less than three years time, a supercomputer is going to declare nuclear war between the United States and Russia. Within a day three billion will be killed and the rest of humanity will be on its way of being wiped out. And it's only because of _you, _Martin, that keeps us going from extinct. But you can only do that if you're prepared.

Instead, he said, "You know what the scouts say: Always prepared."

"You were never a scout," Martin muttered softly. He shook his head. "No, sorry, I don't feel comfortable about this. Put that weapon away, Douglas. This is inappropriate."

"Martin-"

_"Put it away. _Or else I will report you."


	5. Chapter 5

Douglas technically first met Martin when he was eighteen years old.

There were thousands of refugees, all walking across the Arizona state, many of them dropping dead simply from dehydration and sun stroke. Douglas will always be amazed how he survived. He, who lived in a land of trees and mist survived while dozens of locals who lived in this desert all their lives did not.

Douglas' aunt Janice had long succumbed to the head wound she obtained when the missiles first struck. "Oh, I have a headache…" she muttered, sitting down. Douglas kept urging her to get back up, to keep moving, but she waved him off. "I just need a moment to rest, dear," she said quietly, closing her eyes. "Just give me a second…"

Douglas always wished he had time to bury her, but he had to keep moving. Water sources were constantly drained by so many others, he didn't have the time or energy to give her a proper funeral. So Douglas left his aunt where she sat, slumped against a broken wall, looking like she was taking a quick nap.

It was supposed to be a graduation gift from his parents, this trip to Arizona. A holiday week to spend with his cool, hippy aunt while visiting the Grand Canyon. Douglas' younger brothers were insanely jealous, and the last thing he had said to them before boarding the plane was a mocking, "Ha ha, losers!"

He didn't have time to cry, not when he was so constantly hungry and thirsty. There were too many people looking out of their own kids, their own families to care about him. The days were too hot and the nights were insanely cold. The little pathetic bottle water he managed to salvage had been drunk over ten hours ago and from the looks of things, there was no available source in sight for miles.

So four days after the bombs were dropped, Douglas Richardson found a quiet place to die.

He spotted a hummingbird sucking nectar out of a desert flower, his lips quirking when he realized what he was looking at. He'd only seen hummingbirds in books and was so surprised to find them so small. When he came close, the hummingbird took off, faster than he could see. Taking that as a sign, he squatted down next to the flowers, gently laid his head to the dusty ground and waited for death to come.

He woke up only a few minutes later, in the arms of red-haired man, while he poured a small stream of water into his mouth. "C'mon, swallow," the man urged gently.

Douglas was more surprised to hearing a British voice than the taste of water. He had heard through word of mouth England was wiped off the map. He expected to never hear somebody from his homeland ever again. He swallowed, his throat nearly contracting from the sheer pain of movement. He fought through it, and drank everything the man gave him.

"That's a good lad," the man said gently. "What's your name?"

"Douglas," the boy croaked. "Richardson"

He'd never know why that made the man smile so widely.


	6. Chapter 6

If it were anyone else other than Kieran, Douglas would have killed him.

Kieran, annoyingly, will become one of Martin's most trusted lieutenants in Europe. His skills as a computer hack were unmatched and he was a constant thorn in the side of the machines. If- God forbid- Douglas failed in his mission in ensuring Martin's survival, his next priority would be Kieran.

It took everything Douglas had to hold himself back and allow Kieran _beat _the future resistant leader. Martin was squealing something awful but the boy was not causing any real damage. If he had, he would've been on the ground in two seconds, with Douglas' foot on his back, breaking his spine.

Kieran would not be the only person Douglas wanted to kill. Because of Martin's quiet demeanor and small frame, people often though of him as weak, and thus, easily to push over. Martin usually stood up for himself, able to hold his own without any help. Very rarely had ever Douglas felt the need to step in.

But when he did, he made sure the bodies were never found.

There were only two that ever pushed Douglas that far. Two, he thought were too potential of a threat to Martin's life. The first was a drug dealer that lived on Martin's street. He sold weak heroin to the university kids and generally kept to himself. When it was revealed it was Martin who narced him out to the university police, the dealer vowed revenge. Douglas promptly ran him over with a stolen car.

The second person he was forced to kill was none other than Gordon Shappey.

After his failed attempt to steal GERT-I, Gordon thought the best route to seek retribution on Carolyn was to break Martin's knee-caps. An airline can't fly without its captain, afterall.

Douglas managed to foil the first attempt by breaking the nose of the goon hired to assault Martin. He thought that would be enough of a message to Gordon, telling him to back off. Except a second attempt was made and this time, Douglas decided enough was enough.

Arthur would cry when he learned Gordon's home went up in flames. Carolyn showed enough sympathy for Arthur's sake, though it was no secret she did not mourn Gordon's death. She did, however, openly celebrated when Arthur was made beneficiary of his father's estate, inhereting almost six million pounds in combination of insurance, land, and stocks.

Martin was never the wiser, oblivious that each time he went to his van in the darken car park, someone was waiting for him with the intent to maim. Oblivious to Douglas' interference. He was too happy at the moment to finally be a paid pilot to question any possible suspicions he might have.

Douglas never considered it murder, never lost any sleep over it. He was willing to do anything for Martin. This was nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

Martin did not take the news well.

"No," he said, shaking his head. He could barely look at the busted Terminator before him, sparks still erupting from its chest and decapitated head. "No, no, no, no, no, no."

"I'm sorry, Martin, but it's the truth," Douglas breathed heavily as he reloaded his shotgun. He hastily wiped at his forehead, smearing the blood to avoid his eyes. Lord, he was tired. He was definitely too old to be doing this.

"No," Martin kept going. "No, this is a dream. All a dream, and I'm going to wake up-"

"ENOUGH!" Douglas yelled. He pushed himself off the ground, grabbed Martin around the arm roughly. "I know this is hard to believe, Martin, but this is real. It's all real."

"That's impossible! Stuff like this is not suppose to exist yet!"

"No, not yet, not for maybe another thirty years."

"Thirty…" Martin said slowly, his eyebrows made a crease in his forehead. "Are you saying you're from the _future_?"

Douglas sighed. "Yes," he said relieved.

"Right…"

Martin tried to yank his arm away, but Douglas held strong. After a few failed attempts, Martin opened his mouth and sunk his teeth into Douglas' hand.

Douglas had plenty of scars on his body. Cuts and open wounds that nearly killed him. A bite from a small ginger man was not going to stop him. Gritting his teeth, he waited out Martin's rather weak chomp.

It wasn't until he broke through skin and drew blood did Martin finally draw back. He hunched in guiltily at Douglas' stare, briefly touching the side of his mouth with his tongue where blood had gathered. "Please…"

"I'm not going to hurt you," Douglas said, releasing Martin's arm. "I wouldn't dare."

"I don't understand," Martin frowned, rubbing his wrist. "Why was that thing after me? What's going on?"

Douglas stared down at the T-101. The damn thing nearly crushed Martin's throat until Douglas shot it point blank in the face. If Douglas had been only a second late... "Have you heard of Cyberdyne?"

"What? Yes, of course I have. They make electronics, nearly everyone I know has a laptop made by them-"

"They also made this," Douglas kicked the Terminator, his foot making a dull hollow noise against it. "And in less than two years time, they will be the cause of three billion deaths on the planet."

Martin made a whining noise. "Douglas..."

"Look at it, Martin! Stop acting so damn ignorant and look at what's in front of you!" Roughly, he grabbed Martin by the scruff of his shirt and hauled him over. Martin didn't fight him and that made Douglas even angrier. "This thing was designed to kill and hunt humans. This particular one was made to hunt and kill _you."_

"Why? I can't even afford a Cyberdyne computer, why would it want me?"

"Because one day you will lead the Revolution," Douglas said, cocking the shotgun with practice ease, making Martin flinch from the unfamiliar sound. "And I am here to make sure you live to do so."


	8. Chapter 8

Martin didn't say much on the drive home. He stared out the window with such an odd look on his face, Douglas thought he might have gone catotonic. As long as he was alive and breathing, Douglas can handle the rest. He can admit it couldn't be easy, suddenly learning you are the future savior of the world.

He pulled into his driveway, quietly observing the house for any disturbances. He seriously doubted Skynet had the ability to send more than one T-101 into the past. The amount of energy it took just to send Douglas back, theoretically, was equivelant to that of a hundred and fifty lightning bolts. Not even these machines, all deciding on one choice, could provide that much electricity over and over.

Still, Douglas told Martin to stay in the car as he quickly checked the outside area, looking for clues. He could hear his neighbor's dog, Snuffles, playing in the backyard behind the fence. "It's safe," Douglas announced, motioning for Martin to come out of the car.

Martin frowned, still upset. "How can you tell?"

"All dogs naturally fear the machines and will bark in their presence. The neighbor's dog is quiet."

Still frowning, Martin got out of the car like weights were surgically attached to his legs. Douglas hadn't seen him that miserable since the last girl he asked out laughed in his face. Taking him gently by the shoulder, Douglas steered Martin into the house.

He put his future leader into the kitchen, sitting him down at the table. When he turned towards the fridge, thinking perhaps of a ham sandwich, Martin asked quietly, "Was Helena ever your wife?"

Douglas stiffened for only second. He didn't expect that to be the first of questions. "No," he said finally. "Helena was just a front."

Martin made a disgusted noise. "I can't believe you lied to her like that."

"I didn't," Douglas continued, making his way to the fridge and opening it. He took out the ham and cheese and bread. "There are actually people in this world who believe the world is going to end. Helena is one of them. I told her of Skynet and she believed me. She's in Mexico right now, making preparations when you finally take over."

Martin gaped, his mouth floundering for a few long moments. "Mexico?"

"It's one of the few places on Earth that remain mostly untouched by the nuclear fallout. As well as South America, parts of Africa-"

"England?"

Douglas finished the sandwich and brought it over while shaking his head. "No. Every major military power is wiped off the map."

_"God," _Martin moaned, putting his head in his hands, shaking.

Douglas pushed the plate with the sandwich on it towards him. "Eat. It'll make you feel better."

"Why me?" Martin finally snapped, bringing his head up. He was very near tears. "I can't fight. I don't know how to use a gun. I have no military training... I can't even get _you _to follow orders! What makes you think I can do this? What makes you think you have the right person?"

"I know I have the right person."

He slapped his hand violently on the table, rattling the dish from the force. "Stop it! This is impossible! I'm not a military leader, Douglas! What makes me so goddamn special?"

Douglas let him tire himself out. The anger and downright horror slowly ebbed away, curiosity taking over as Martin waited for Douglas' answer.

Calmly, Douglas said, "You gave me a message, to tell you for when I came back here."

Martin's stomach clenched at this.

"I'm sorry, Martin," Douglas recited carefully. "for the burdens you are about to recieve. But you must be strong, for the lives of every person on Earth now depends on you and your actions. There is no fate but what we make."

Martin gave out a harsh, bitter laugh. "That's the message? _Sorry, sucks to be you? _Seriously, that's all I have to say? " He shook his head. "And what the hell does 'no fate' mean? Was I being sarcastic?"_  
_

Douglas reached over and gently grasped Martin's shoulder, squeezingly lightly. "It means, that the future is not set in stone. There is no fate but what we make ourselves."

"What are you saying?" Martin said, wiping his eyes. "Can we stop this future from happening? Is that even possible?"

"Jesus Christ, Martin, I traveled through fucking_ time. _So yes, I say anything's possible."

Martin gave out another harsh laugh, this one sounding less bitter.

"Eat," Douglas encouraged, pushing the plate back in front of him. "Gather your strength. We have a long road ahead of us."


	9. Chapter 9

What_ he remembered best was the smell. That constant smell of smoke, flame, and wet metal. It was everywhere, no matter where he stepped, seeping into the back of his throat. It was like sucking on a copper coin piece every hour of every day._

_No matter where you looked, there were skulls. Perfectly clean, white skulls. Whenever Douglas' foot collided with them, they made the most wonderful morbid sound. Like bells, they were. Kick them hard enough and they crumbled._

_As horrific as it was, Douglas learned it was better to enjoy the little things. That's what Arthur taught him. Because if he focused on everything that was wrong, it would lead him straight to suicide within a matter of days._

_Bell-skulls. The unofficial name made him giggle._

_In this dream he walked through the underground barracks. No matter where he went, where he was stationed, it was all the same. People were either starving, cold or sick. Someone was always crying, always mourning over something. It was dirty and grimy and nobody was allowed to shout- not even children- unless it was an emergency._

_Douglas chose a quiet spot to sit down and rest, shifting his rifle so it wouldn't jostle his back. For a few seconds he let his mind drift, just quietly enjoying his moment of peace. When that got boring, he reached into his front pocket._

_Douglas hadn't seen Martin for at least a year now. Last he heard, the General was directing troops somewhere in Canada, trying to take back the far North. Douglas didn't mind. He had his picture to keep him company._

_Douglas stole the picture from Arthur years ago. Arthur's little book of photographs was one thing he coveted deeply and never allowed anybody to touch. Most of them were of his mum, an aeroplane, and some strange little dog. The rest were of either Arthur himself, or the runway of Fitton airport._

_Considering Douglas couldn't walk past a field without it covered in human remains, those photos were the ones he loved the best._

_There was one photo of Martin. He was in his pilot uniform, clutching his hat like he expected someone off-screen to snatch it away from him. His head was titled up, displaying an air of pride and confidence. There was just the tiniest of smiles on his lips, the smallest of twinkle in his eye._

_"I took that on his very first day as captain," Arthur said, grinning. "He had me retake it four times because he didn't want to be smiling in his photo. Said it was unprofessional."_

_Douglas would always feel guilty whenever he saw Arthur look through the album, wondering if he misplaced the photo in between the pages. It was a small loss, Arthur will admit. It only made him protect the rest of his photographs even harder._

_There wasn't a day that gone by when Douglas didn't look at this picture of Martin. He memorized every wrinkle, every crease in clothing, every frickle. Every time he looked at this photo, he felt pious._

Pious_, Douglas giggled harshly. He knew many others around here still tried to hold on to their Sunday prayers, coveted their copies of the Bible. He had nothing against that._

_But he knew how odd it sounded, if he admitted this to anyone. When others wanted to follow in the footsteps of Jesus Christ, Douglas wanted to follow Martin's._

_Nobody knew why dogs barked in the presence of the machines. They were not trained to respond, it was all instinctive. The moment Douglas heard their guard dogs barking, he quickly shoved the photo away and surged to his feet._

_Plama rilfe in hand, Douglas ran down the hall, passing screaming women and children. Up ahead he could hear the familiar noise of men dying, of guns firing. Once he determined he was close enough, he ducked behind a wooden crate, and aimed._

_He was able to surprise the first T-101 that came around the corner, shooting rapidly until its head came clean off. The next terminator was not so gullible and tossed a grenade in Douglas' direction._

_He managed to duck away in time but the explosion still knocked him off his feet. He landed awkwardly, dislocating his shoulder in the process. He cried out._

_From the ground, he helplessly watched as two more terminators come into view, shooting everything in sight. When one of them noticed him on the ground, they pointed their gun right at him-_

Douglas jerked awake.

After spending so many years sleeping on cots, the floor, and any other soft surface he could find, sleeping in a bed was still foreign to him. It would be funny if it wasn't so sad. He scrubbed a hand over his face and checked the time- 1:23- and decided he wasn't going to sleep anymore tonight.

He got up, stretching his limbs and grimacing. The youth he dreamt of was a sore reminder of his age and he heard it in every pop of his bones. Lord, what he wouldn't give to be ten years younger.

Quietly he treaded downstairs in search of tea. He heard the quiet hums of the television before he saw it. He came into the living room and saw Martin sitting down on the couch, with his knees brought up to his chin, staring intensely at the screen.

"Cyberdyne just announced its new computer system," Martin said quietly. "They hope to have it connected to every home in America by next year."

It has been nearly three days since Martin discovered he was The hope of the future. Douglas given him some space, let him come to terms. He hadn't run away, which was a good sign.

"We have to do something, Douglas," Martin continued, sounding broken. "We can't let them do this."

"And what, pray tell, do you expect us to do?"

"I don't know... we could tell them-"

"Tell them?" Douglas scoffed. "You honestly believe a multi-billionaire company is going to believe two random men babbling about the impending apocalypse?"

"The machine, the T-something we buried. We could show them that-"

"Martin, _no_." Douglas went over and switched off the tv. "I understand your concern, but my primary mission here is to protect _you_. And I will not risk your life or your limbs on a _chance_ we could prevent the future war."

Martin surged to his feet. "Three billion lives, Douglas! Three billion! You're telling me that's not worth dying for?"

"If it were just my life on the line, yes, but not yours! You are too important!"

Douglas twisted around and stalked to the kitchen, ignoring Martin's portests on the way there. Martin kept trying to step in front of him, trying to exert his authority like he would as captain on Gerti. It wasn't working and it only made Douglas angrier.

"So you're telling me we do nothing? Nothing as the world burns?" Martin yelled at him. "We have the ability to stop this, Douglas, to stop everything! Nobody has to die. What's the point of coming back in time, a chance to change the world and not use it? What about Carolyn? What about Arthur? Would you let them die-"

"YES!" Douglas surged forward, getting into Martin's space, forcing him to back against a wall. Martin flinched like a frightened animal, eyes wide in fear, he braced himself. "I would let them die if it means keeping you safe! I would gladly watch them BURN if it means you get to see tomorrow!"

Those poisonious words hanged in the air. Though it was the truth, Douglas thought he may have gone too far. Either way, at least now Martin understood why-

"Stand down, soldier."

Douglas felt like he was just slapped. "What?"

The horrified look that was presented on Martin's face only a few seconds earlier melted away. Something cold and deadly settled into his eyes. "Did I fucking stutter? I said, STAND DOWN."

Immediately Douglas backed away.

Martin stepped away from the wall, curling his fists into tight balls at his side. "If I am your so-called leader, then you _will_ follow _my_ command! Understood?"

"Martin-"

_"Is that fucking understood?"_

Douglas clamped his mouth shut. He could hear his heart beating rapidly, blood roaring in his ears. He was given an order and he must obey. Slowly, he nodded.

Martin waited just long enough to ensure Douglas was not going to speak up again and said, "You want to ensure my survival- for what? So I can step away and allow this damn apocalypse to happen? Are you even listening to yourself? If I am to save the human race, then first I must let three billion die. That's your logic. I think not, Douglas. If I am to be the leader of resistance, then my first job is to make sure the future does not come to pass. You want me to live to see tomorrow, then stand by my side and _help me _make sure tomorrow comes!"

His voice cracked on those last words but it didn't matter. Three days ago all Martin could do was moan and clutch his head, unable to comprehend how _big_ his mission in life was. During the first year Douglas had known Martin, he saw him as a child, a child who still needed to hold someone's hand to guide him through life.

Something changed.

Standing before him was no child. This was the man whose footsteps Douglas would gladly follow into Hell and back.

He resisted the urge to kneel.

"Of course," Douglas said quietly. "Anything."


End file.
